


Just Too Close to Love You

by agoodtuckering



Series: Carving A New Life [3]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Angst, Confessions, F/M, Hidden Feelings, Post-Season/Series 04, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 07:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21424510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Nicola winds up on Malcolm's doorstep one evening. What could she possibly have to say?
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Series: Carving A New Life [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1470488
Comments: 8
Kudos: 26





	Just Too Close to Love You

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from some Alex Clare lyrics.

Malcolm chose to cook a simple curry one night. He was in the kitchen, music playing softly in the background, when there came a knock at his front door. Whoever it was, he assumed they were apprehensive about him answering, otherwise they would have gladly used his doorbell to get his immediate attention. 

So what did he do? He ignored it for a few minutes. However, there came another few knocks rapping away at the door nearly five minutes later. _ Persistent, then, _ he decided. _ Nervous yet persistent. Determined, even. _

Flinging the kitchen towel over his shoulder, he slipped off to the foyer. He answered the door with furrowed, curious brows, only to find the one person he never thought he’d see again standing _ helplessly _ and _ hopelessly _ on his front stoop.

“What the fuck?” he heard himself say. “I’m no going to even ask, ae. I dinnae wanna know why yer here. Just go home.” 

Nicola was huddled close to the door to keep out of the drizzling, cold rain that was falling all around them. She didn’t even have an umbrella, he noticed. No Mary Poppins jokes to be made, then. What a fucking shame. 

“I don’t know what possessed me to come,” she stumbled to get out. “I… I really don’t. Well, I mean, I do. But it’s ridiculous and you hate me. I hate you too, but probably not as much as you hate me.” 

He reached a hand up to rub at his temple, already sick of her rambling. That must be a record, eh? Thirty seconds in and he was _ done. _She was a state to be seen too. What a mess she was, all frizzy hair from the rain and with a soaked coat, still huddled into the collar to hold onto what warmth she could. She looked a right, proper fright at the moment, ae. 

He put a hand up, hoping to stop her mid-ramble. It was effective enough. She shut that fucking mouth of hers. Instead of a million and one terrible jokes or insults he could hurl her way, he simply asked, “Why are ye here, Nic’la? What did ye want? … I’m surprised ye even remembered where I live, to be honest.” 

She was stunned for a moment, probably by the fact that he’d calmly spoken. 

She deflated, all the air leaving her lungs on a gusty sigh. She looked at him for a moment, almost imploringly, before trying to speak. She stopped, gathered herself, and trudged along. “I wanted to say that I’m sorry,” she finally said, her eyes bravely meeting his.

Her hair was longer again now. She looked the way she used to, back when she’d been working at DoSAC. If he closed his eyes, maybe he could just pretend that all the years hadn’t passed them by. Like things were still the way they had been so long ago.

“What are _ ye _sorry for?” he asked, more than a bit incredulous now. “I’m fuckin' confused.” 

To his credit, he said no more. He stepped aside and let her into his home. She accepted, thankful for the respite from the cold, the chill, and the windy rain coming down. It was getting heavier now, turning into more of a pour and less of a drizzle. 

Closing the door behind herself, she looked at him for a moment. God but he looked awful. He was thin, gaunt as ever, and paler than she remembered. Instantly the smell of delicious curry wafted her way and she sighed deeply, lost in wonder for a moment. Did he cook often? Was it something that relaxed him? Did it make him happy, in the private space of his own home? _ Why the fuck did she even care? _And really, she should have just been glad that he was feeding himself. He needed to gain some bloody weight. 

“You know as well as I do that I’m the reason you went to prison,” she said quietly. “Well, not the actual reason, per se, because you made your own coffin… But I certainly hammered in the last few nails. With everything I said at your trial, I mean. I know you ruined my career, or at least you thought you had, for the good of the party. But I’d done something much worse. I’d sent you to prison. I need to ask you something, Malcolm.”

He was, for once in his fucking life, stunned to silence. Why now? Why did this matter now? Why had she come to him now and said all this? Because he’d seen her a month ago, at her new workplace? Was that why? Did their chance meeting stir up that guilt again for her? Did he _ really _look that fucking awful? 

He was dimply aware of her expectant, awaiting expression. Dry-mouthed, throat scratchy, he asked, “What? What is it? What do ye have to ask me?” 

She stepped closer to him. To his credit, though, he didn’t go reeling away from her. He just stood there awkwardly with his kitchen towel and his stupid expression. 

“I need to know if you had Tickle's information for the reason everyone said.”

The words dropped like an atomic bomb on a sleeping village. The devastation was total.

Malcolm couldn’t answer for a moment. But after he’d gathered himself up, he replied, “No. I’m horrible, but I’m no that horrible, ae. I’m no a complete monster. In fact, I wasn’t even aware that I had his information at that point. I was protecting Sam, my PA. It was her handwriting, no my own. She’d written everything down for me. In the business we were in, you had to be careful. I was given the information in case anything ever needed to be done with it. I’m no as much of a monster as everyone thinks. But if I’d said all this, they would have turned to Sam. Because she acquired the information for me, of course. I was protecting her. I never said one thing to Tickle, and I never contacted his family, nor did I dare to contact his ex-wife or anyone else. Like I said, I’d been given the information _ in case _something needed to be done.” He swallowed thickly, sighing at the memories and adding, “Why does it matter?”

She looked a bit lost for a moment, brushing her damp tresses back and sighing quietly. “I needed to know,” she admitted in a small, soft voice. “I needed to know if this guilt that I feel every day is and was worth it. I put you in prison. What you did to me was fucking terrible. I trusted you, and you stabbed me in the back. No, not even in the back. You stabbed me in the _ heart, _ and then in the rest of my vital organs. Then my back, too. For good measure. But you didn’t deserve what I did to you, either, Malcolm. So I’m sorry.”

His stunned silence, as before, completely unnerved her. She found it so fucking unlike him. He always had something to say. He would outlive everyone on the planet just trying to have the last fucking word. And here he was, looking at her with meaning and honesty and _ something else _ and she was fucking terrified. Because he never _ used to _look at her that way, did he? She couldn’t remember now. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Malcolm. Just say something.”

Her voice faltered a bit towards the end. It was enough to snap him out of whatever stupor he’d been lost in. And by the time he realized what he was doing, he was ashamed, because he’d stepped closer to her and her back came to rest against his front door. 

Standing in front of her now, he sighed softly. She could feel his breath wash over her. He smelled faintly of red wine, something dry and aged. And really, had his eyes always been that green? They so often looked gray. Maybe they were. They looked blue at times, too. But right now, here in front of her, they looked seafoam, gorgeous green. Even in the dim light, she could make out each speck of color in them. That was how close he was now. 

“What would ye like me to say?” he asked softly. He kept his hands to himself, though. He didn’t move now. Not any closer, or any further away.

“I don’t know,” she tried. “Tell me it’s okay. Or tell me it’s not okay. Tell me I’m an omnishambolic fuck up and a frump and a hundred other things you used to say. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you don’t. Tell me you forgive me. Tell me something else. I dunno. But say something. You’re frightening when you’re so quiet.”

He let his eyes roam her features for a moment. Then she continued, “Tell me you’re sorry too, for what you did to me. Because it was so personal, and because we were so close. We spent every day together for years. _ I trusted you. _It wasn’t all bad and you know it. So tell me that you’re sorry. Say it like you mean it.” 

She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Without thinking too much about the consequences, he told her, “I _ am _sorry. Ye needed to go, Nic’la. I should have done it another way. I'm sorry."

It was enough. It was _ just enough _for now. She softened and relaxed back against his door, her arms crossing over her chest. She nodded solemnly before asking, “Should… Should I leave? It smells like an Indian restaurant in here. I seem to have come at a bad time. Were you cooking? It smells incredible.”

The ache in his chest that he’d been feeling for so long now began to ease a little. It faded somewhat. He felt whole again, for the moment, and he didn’t want to lose this. She was the reason.

The moment having passed, he stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “Ae, I was cooking a curry for myself. There’s enough for two if ye’d care to stay. It’s fuckin' pissing it down outside. Ye don’t have a fuckin' umbrella and ye’ll be soaked by the time ye make it home. Ye’ll catch a virus with yer luck. Don’t be an idiot.” 

Her breath hitched in her throat as he stepped away from her. She really, _ really _wondered if he might kiss her. She didn’t know whether she was relieved or disappointed at the fact that he’d slipped through her grasp. 

Wait… Had he offered her dinner? His words slowly trickled in, the realization hitting her somewhat hard. She had one terrifying, frantic moment, inside, where she thought of the ways to say no thank you. Instead, all that was said was a soft, “I’d love that, thank you. I’m starved.”

He took her coat from her, hanging it up to dry and guiding her into his kitchen as he finished making dinner. And that meal, well, it was the first meal they had shared in _ so long, _ and for once, there wasn't a single comment on the subject of politics. They talked about other things; her life, her kids, how he’d been since he got out of prison. They were both careful, though. They didn’t say too much about themselves. They were afraid. But it was a _ start. _

At least it was a start. 

They were cleaning up his kitchen together when he began to speak, _ really speak, _and she cast a soft look over towards him. He was drying his hands on a towel, having finished the washing up, and she froze as he stepped closer with a look of wonder on his face. 

“What is it?” she asked, feeling more than a bit silly. Things had been building up to _ this _ for years. _ Don’t fight it, _a voice told her. And she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to fight it anymore. 

“Ye said something earlier,” he began. “Ye said ye just… wanted to make sure I wasn’t guilty. Ye asked me if I _ did _ it. If I had Tickle’s information for a reason. Would that have changed yer feelings at all? Dinnae know if I even _ want _the answer, but I’m curious now.” 

She swallowed thickly, leaning back against the kitchen counter. The room was suddenly far too small for her liking. Blood hell, what could she say to that? _ Be honest, _she reminded herself. Lying was what had gotten them into this position in the first place. They had been lying to one another for years. 

“As angry as I am with myself for saying this, for feeling this way, no… It wouldn’t _ really _ have changed my feelings. But it made it easier, knowing that, knowing that you hadn’t bullied a poor man into killing himself. But I wouldn’t…” She paused, suddenly unsure of herself. The look in his eyes, though, begged for her honesty. “I wouldn’t care for you any less if that _ had _been the case,” she finally finished. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

Malcolm sighed softly, the relief on his face more than evident. He slipped closer to her, his hands finding her waist. All at once his expression was softer than before. Soft, yet serious. Intent. And she realized, perhaps at the last moment, that he was looking at her lips. 

What was more of a shock than anything else was the way his thumb was stroking her warm skin through the soft fabric of her top. It was startling. For a man so rough, constantly, she hadn’t expected that at all. Her hip, her skin was practically tingling beneath his touch.

_ No more fighting it. _

They were on the verge of kissing when her phone rang in her pocket. She nearly jumped right out of her skin, it startled her so badly. In her haste to reach for her mobile, she elbowed him in the chin and his teeth collided with a terrible, loud _ crack. _

“Shite!” he cried out, a hand flying up to touch his mouth. “Jesus fuckin' Christ, Nic’la.”

Her hands were everywhere: on her phone, his chest, his face to make sure he was alright, before answering the call. It was her daughter. She was stuck at a friend’s house without a ride home, on the other side of London. _ Far, far away _from his little townhouse in Fulham. 

She had a few text messages that she noticed as well, much to her own astonishment. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she said, after she’d hung up the phone. “Malcolm, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I just hit you with my elbow. My daughter needs a ride home and I have to go.” 

He didn’t _ speak _a reply so much as grunt one in response for her. Eventually, he said, “Go ahead,” as he tossed his towel onto the sink. “Yer a fucking rabbit on methamphetamine, Nic’la. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed. Ye cannae relax for a second, can ye?”

She laughed nervously, more of a squeaky sound than anything, and shrugged into her jacket as quickly as possible. Maybe it was the kiss that had almost happened, or perhaps it was the way his hands had felt on her hips. She was _ terrified. _ It frightened her just how badly she _ hadn’t _ wanted him to stop. _ Not ever. _

Pretending that none of it had actually taken place, that everything was perfectly normal between them, she simply said, “Thank you for a wonderful meal, Malcolm. I’m… glad I came by. I’ll just… I’ll call you. Or text you. Or not. Whatever you’d prefer. If you want, we can just pretend this never happened. You decide. In fact, _ you _ can call _ me.” _

And with that, she was gone. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this, guys. I'm really enjoying writing this series.


End file.
